this shade of grey
it's the wrong the grey, it's stale
a shade of grey, nickel grey or maybe arsenic
the sky lacks depth, the blues
shades of cobalt blue, denim, and teal blue
the juxtaposition of the swaying trees
shades of pear green, sea moss, olive green
but the trees don't seem to really move
it's not quite there, it's the wrong green
and I hate the blue (I really hate the blue)
the motion and harmony of colors,
this canvas is uninspiring, it lacks hope
my husband stood in the doorway, watching me paint in a complete frenzy
(which he typically does)
he hugs me firmly from behind,
he startled me
(which he typically does not)
he whispers
"masterpiece"
I turn around to lock eyes with him, puzzled
inspired
hopeful
he moved my hair bangs, to left side of my face
he kissed my cheek
and then he kissed my forehead
(I continued painting...)
Regularly mown . `.=. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
grass will respect it’s borders …… `.=. ,,,,,,,,,
or seeds will scatter .…………………… `.=. ,
falls gloomy night skies meet the clueless ~
~ winters bright nights new stars greet tears
Babies cry, sleep, change nappies, feed. Toddlers drink water from cups. Younger brothers, younger sister, older brother, older sister, small town, large country.
One lane roads, one lane bridges, unsealed, 60mph, in the dark. Bush covered gorges, rail lines across the river, small waterfalls, windows down, no seatbelts in the back seat, lying down, sleeping on the rugs, stopping for carsick ones on the edges. Mum singing, Dad driving, children counting dead possums.
The ways into town run through a long winding gorge or a longer winding coastal road, both prone to slips. Nearest cities Christchurch, Nelson, 200 miles away. Only referred to as the Coast, with its own dialect, only belonging when born there.
Biscuits four trays, oven
Bread hot water cupboard rising, Dad late
Holden Kingswood written off, dead bull
Packs, boots, carbide lamps, white fizzy hosing down leggings, parkas, gumboots, bikes, back porch full.
Flames warm quality coal
Sheet lightening children’s window race
Nothing more calming than the thunder of the rain.
static in my brain and kick drums in my chest
equate the feeling of the constant unrest
in my wrist is a pulse beating beneath my skin
staring blankly while i contemplate the similarities
of plucking the artery or snapping a loose thread
connecting my life from death
ripping at the seams of my bitter disposition
my poor hand of cards
loosing my composure
to break for all to see
or let it consume me
Nagrota station is as beautiful as one can imagine,
the varied birds seen here are the source of attraction.
But alas, this divine scenery has turned into a dreadful ornery.
A place where the cuckoo bird sang a melodious song,
but now the crow caws a grief stricken song.
Flowers wilted after seeing the rain of pain,
birds gave up singing songs in disdain.
The encounter that changed many lives,
the whole day all we could was wait and sigh.
29th November was the worst day for the entire Nagrota station,
when the family members of the soldiers panicked with tension.
Our soldiers were so selfless, so brave,
for hundreds of families they saved.
But not all endings are a happy one,
Many lost their Father and Sons,
whom they hadn’t seen for months.
The pain could only be conveyed through tears,
what turn now life would take, they feared.
Soldiers defend their country and protect their motherland
because they don’t want other country ruling their land.
You take out faults in them,
But you don’t realize you won’t be here without them.
For how long will the soldiers keep their lives on stake for our sake,
Stop this bloodshed before it’s too late.
What would it be like…
If there were no Thanksgiving this year?
What? No turkey with trimmings?
No hams?
No pumpkin pies?
No favorite dish of yams?
No family gathering?
No grown up children with kids of their own?
What if everyone just stayed home?
No kids would be running
Or shouting with joy
No toddlers crying
All grabbing one toy
No special smells that fill the air
No decorations on table or stair
No mashing of potatoes, real butter and milk
No cornucopia, made with ribbons and silk
No memories shared of loved ones now gone
No football game yells; no favorite song
Look outside. Something is missing out there
No extra cars parked; No feelings of care
Most of all no family arranging; no timer set
No ready smiles. No chairs to get
The “dreaded” annual photo is not to be
The happiest part of that day for me.
No capturing of faces we love so dear
No thought that someone may not be here next year
It’s okay. I’m still grateful in every way
To me it’s still a special day
Don’t need a pilgrim’s hat on my head
Don’t need a turkey or homemade bread
I cherish the years that I have had
One dark holiday won’t make me sad
(Sniff, sniff….)
Surveying over her kingdom,
In silent flight on hushed wings,
With eyes that search the field for life
Her ears detect the slightest sound.
She kills her prey and tears it too-
And feeds her hungry one.
The day has just started,
It lies ahead like a mountain,
With trails that must be followed
And pitfalls that must be overcome.
But I look toward the coming day,
For I will see you,
And I will have many thoughts
Of you today.
The sun was setting level
With a rolling fog
Upon a roost
Two hawks sat
As on a log
The upper most
dove off into space
Leaving the other
in its place
And watched the sun sink deeper.
Again I write to someone
Who is like myself.
I find her saying what is in my mind.
Strange it is to hear your words
As someone else does speak.
I look down into her eyes
And see the life within her burn.
Her skin is soft and warm to feel,
And smooth as ivory cloth.
Her hair is dark, black like night.
I kiss her once and feel her near
And know that she is mine.
A little life,
Springing from a stagnate pool,
Beautyand, to some, ugliness.
We learn to talk and speak.
Then to sing.
Then to express our views,
And what is in our heart.
We put what we have learned to one,
Our songs of love and protest,
Today’s feast is All Saints day.
Do you have any friends there
With whom you’d like to pray?
Ask them to say one for you.
They will, you know.
They always do.
They know where we’re at .
They’ve been there too.
They’d love to give us a hand
And guide our way through.
Today’s feast is All Saints Day.
Got one batting for you?
The reason I wrote this poem is to symbolize anything that ever catches you in the
clutches of temptation, be it small like chocolate as this is, or bigger like ****,
smoking, alcohol, etc..fill in the blank, everyone has something that it seems like they
can't quite conquer. The struggling and the realization that nothing on this earth with
satisfy that God sized whole in your heart, even if at the beginning you believe that it
will. Thanks for taking the time to read. Hope you enjoy.
A romance swirled in cocoa brown and creamy white
Smooth flavor
Charming you to take another bite
Promising to stay with you forever and ever
The allure of wanting more
So much more
Beckoning to catch you
Catch you in its trap once again
Enticing
Ever inviting
Daring you to take another bite
Sinking deeper into temptation
But the fun is over before you know it
Never getting enough
You're always wanting just a little more
Your mind in turmoil
Questions flooding
Racing
Why does this happen every single time?
But you fall to the ground
Every time afterwards
Brought down lower than before
Always
With the same answer
Chocolate never really loves you back
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.